


No Other Way

by The_Fictionist_Aura



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Gen, Post John Wick 3, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 19:37:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19047004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fictionist_Aura/pseuds/The_Fictionist_Aura
Summary: "He had begged too many people to help - the Director, Sofia and the Elder had all witnessed it.  And despite all the shit he had done for them -  all the ballet he used to suffer through, how the shoes broke his toes when he was young, taking bullets for Sofia’s daughter, his wedding ring, his fucking finger.And yet it had been honest - in a twisted way."John Wick 3 Spoilers.





	No Other Way

“He has to die.”

 

And the burn of bullets.  John had called his name, letting his eyes show rare emotion of hurt as he realized the manager fully intended to kill him.  John barely heard the word ‘sorry’ come from Winston’s mouth.

 

“Don’t see any other way.” 

 

He rolled off the roof, having no idea what laid below other than less bullets.  As his body was thrown like a pinball between New York fire escapes and other things that were made of metal, the only pain he felt was one deep in his chest.  

 

_ “Rules and consequences.” _

 

_ “Rather die at the hand of a friend than a hand of an enemy.” _

 

_ A flash of that pistol with the obnoxious white handle. _

 

_ “You shoot me, you sell your soul.” _

 

_ “Who do you wish to die as - he last thing men ever see or as a man who loved and was loved by his wife?” _

 

He had begged too many people to help - the Director, Sofia and the Elder had all witnessed it.  And despite all the shit he had done for them - all the ballet he used to suffer through, how the shoes broke his toes when he was young, taking bullets for Sofia’s daughter, his wedding ring, his fucking finger.

 

And yet it had been honest - in a twisted way. 

 

He had landed on the ground now but felt like he was on fire.  His mouth tasted like blood and he could smell blood and flighty asphalt all around him.  

 

But Winston. 

 

He should have seen it.

 

The eerie calm Winston had had during the gun down as he sat in the panic room.  Not that Winston was new to violence of any kind but - there had been something. Less care in his eyes than usual.  A leer of dominance. Something he hadn’t thought of at the time.

 

While John had always thought Winston had cared for him, he thought now that perhaps Winston had always cared for what John’s presence had meant for Winston.  Protection. Respect. Other things John couldn’t fathom with the amount of blood he had loss. 

 

Winston had been one of the only people John had trusted before and after Helen - that much John remembered.  He had helped him on the job - had given him one of his first suits. 

 

_ He remembered those aged blue eyes in the mirror at the fitting.  It was in a Continental room on the third floor. Winston was circling him and tugging at different places of cloth, sharply giving notes to the tailor that just seemed to be sticking pins in every direction.  _

 

_ Finally the shorter man stood behind his right side and looked at him through the mirror.  Though he couldn’t reach his shoulder, Winston had laid a gentle hand on his suit cuff and held eye contact with John in the glass.   _

 

_ “Looking good, John.  You’ll be a professional in no time, I am sure.”  His smile was one of the few that hadn’t looked forced during John’s first days on the job.  Something that calmed his nervousness down - something he had told Winston later that day naively.  Winston had smiled again over some glass of alcohol and said, “Oh, the things you say - you flatter me John.  Truly.” _

 

He had been one of the first men to help him get out and helped him when he was forced back in.  The spare hour he had given him had undoubtedly saved John’s life. But this. 

 

_ Don’t think of it as personal, Winston had said, with the offer of a gun.  _

 

Using Helen against him.

 

Shooting him off of a rooftop. 

 

For a hotel.

 

Well not just any hotel, a small voice in the back of his head thought. 

 

He would have died for Winston. It hurt to admit.  It fucking hurt.

 

He would have died for him an hour ago, to make a stand against the high table yes - but more to save his friend. 

 

But no longer.

 

Who the hell was there to trust?

 

Who the fuck should he kill? 

 

Where was his dog?

 

His head was getting heavier by the second and he could feel his eyelids beg for release.  

 

He was going to cut off the Adjudicator’s fingers one by one.  He was going to slit Charon’s throat. He would make it quick - since he did take care of his dog. 

 

He was going to shoot Winston in the gut and have him bleed out and then run a blade through his neck and pull it down until it cut him in half.  

 

He was going to kill them all. 

**Author's Note:**

> AN: John Wick 3 ending killed me omg - I can't wait for the Matrix vibes in John Wick 4 but - I had to get this out of my system. And yes I know, Winston probably knew he had a bulletproof suit but let me live in my angst.


End file.
